Holmes for Christmas and New Year's II
by Lucillia
Summary: Hades Lord of the Dead's annual challenge is back, which means 31 more days of short stories about Sherlock Holmes and company based off of 31 prompts I've received from the other participants in the challenge. Sit back, relax, and enjoy if you so choose to do so.
1. December 1st

**Dec 1: From Poseidon - God of the Seas - Holmes gets up to some self-experimentation.**

"Seriously Holmes, you should know better, even a child knows better." Watson said as he pulled out the jar of an ointment which had been recommended by a local doctor that he'd purchased from a local druggist's on his way back to the hotel where he and his companion were staying.

So far, this trip to America had been one long string of disasters, and not the fun sort either. The one thing that each of those disasters had in common was that they had all come about because Holmes had gone and done something the locals had all agreed was exceedingly unwise.

"Even a toddler would know to heed a rhyme like 'leaves of three, let it be', and surely wouldn't approach a plant called 'Poison Ivy', much less rub it on themselves in order to see what happens!" Watson continued, lecturing his friend as he rubbed the ointment over the rash that his now rather miserable friend had contracted following said experiment.

In terms of sheer inconvenience to him, this was one of the worst things that had happened to Watson on this particular journey. Still, it could've been worse. Holmes could've rubbed the Poison Ivy on him in order to see what happened for instance...


	2. December 2nd

**Dec 2: From Wordwielder - Old books**

John had been wandering through the family library of a schoolmate of his who was a bit better off than he was when he'd found them. There, hidden amongst the old books which mostly gathered dust because few amongst the most recent generations of that family were of an academic bent, had been a series of five leather bound journals. During the time that he spent visiting his friend that summer and the next, John spent every moment he could get away with doing so reading those old journals.

The man who had written those journals had gone on such great adventures as he worked alongside one of the most brilliant minds of his time nearly two centuries before. Each tale of a near brush with death or a grand discovery made by the man's companion was more exciting than the last and held his attention better than the most shocking Penny Dreadfuls.

Eventually, the day came when he had reached the last page of the last of the journals and it was time to place it too back on the shelves amongst the dusty old books of the library. As he closed the book with a sad sense of finality, he wished that he would suddenly discover that there was far more to read hidden amongst the stacks, or that, even better, he too could go on adventures like the ones he had read about. Adventures at the side of a brilliant friend who made an already exciting life even more interesting.

"Like that would ever happen." John Hamish Watson said as he set the journal on the shelf next to its brothers amongst the dusty old books of his friend's family library.


	3. December 3rd

**Dec 3: From cjnwriter - Listening to music.**

"What the devil are you doing?!" Watson asked as Holmes snatched the record off of the brand new Victrola he'd purchased. Holmes had come from Sussex, and in honor of his friend's visit, he'd decided to show off his new purchase by playing a selection of Holmes' favorite music. Having spent years living with the man, he knew exactly what he liked and purchased recordings of his favorite compositions at a rather exorbitant cost.

Holmes' reply to Watson's question was to throw the fragile Bakelite disk at the nearest wall whereupon it shattered on contact.

"But, that was your favorite song!" Watson exclaimed in shock as shards of record hit the floor.

"Which is why I rather mercifully put it down." Holmes replied. "There's listening to music, and there's listening to someone butcher it, and in this case it was unfortunately the latter."

Sighing, Watson put another record on the turntable, turned the crank, and set the needle down on the record. An instant later, this record too received an ignoble demise via the sitting-room wall. A third met a similar demise less than a minute later. With the death of each recording, Holmes insisted that he was rather mercifully putting it down.

Sighing, Watson refrained from making a fourth attempt.

"How about a game of cards?" Watson suggested.

"I thought you'd never ask!" Holmes replied with a smile as he led the way to the card table.


	4. December 4th

**Dec 4: From Ennui Enigma - Watson's missing watch**

"Something wrong?" Holmes asked as he stood in the doorway of his friend's room. Watson was frantically searching for something, and had been doing so for a while from the looks of things.

"My brother's watch went missing!" Watson replied.

"It did?!" Holmes asked, completely surprised by this since Watson had taken far better care of that watch than his brother Harry ever had.

"Yes! It wasn't in its usual spot on the dresser, and this thing was sitting in its place!" Watson yelled as he held up a strange black object.

Taking the object from Watson, Holmes examined it for clues in an attempt to divine Watson's watch's current location since whoever had taken the watch had obviously left this item behind for some unknown purpose. Holmes was uncertain what the object was as he'd never seen its like before, but there was something even stranger about it, something impossibly strange since all of the indications of the object's previous owner(s) looked like normal wear and tear rather than markings that had been deliberately placed.

"Odd." Holmes said a minute later after even closer examination with a magnifying glass netted the same impossible conclusions. "Despite the fact that nothing of its like exists in the world, I'd swear that this belonged to your brother at some point. Aside from it being completely alien, everything about its character matches the watch, right down to the inscription."

**Elsewhere:**

"What's taking you so long?" Sherlock Holmes asked impatiently as he stood in the doorway of his flatmate's bedroom.

"I can't find my cell phone!" Watson yelled from under the bed. "I went to grab it off my dresser earlier and found some old pocket watch I've never seen before instead."

Snatching up the pocket watch that was still on the dresser, Holmes examined it. His eyebrows shot up after a few seconds of examination.

"If I didn't know for a fact that wizards don't exist, I'd swear that one of them was having fun with you and that this was your cell phone." Holmes said, causing Watson to pause in his tracks.


	5. December 5th

**Dec 5: From mrspencil - ...Mrs Hudson reveals a hidden talent**

"...A pity it ended early due to the fire, but you have to admit, it was a great deal more exciting than most showings." Holmes said as he opened the door to his and Watson's flat.

"Yes, the leading Soprano falling into the orchestra pit was quite exciting, especially when she landed on the tuba player." Watson replied over the mysterious banging that seemed to be coming from the direction of Holmes' bedroom.

"Not another break-in." Watson groaned over the din as Holmes stood in the entryway of their flat and frowned.

"But, why would they be using a hammer?" Holmes asked rhetorically as he stalked towards his bedroom.

The sight that greeted Watson when he arrived at the doorway where Holmes had stood stock still staring in surprise was surprising to Watson as well. There stood their usually prim and proper housekeeper, carpentry tools in hand, fixing a job that a carpenter and a glazier had to be called in for twice after one of Holmes' experiments had completely destroyed the previous window the month before. As the two men watched in silence, the woman worked with an expertise they wouldn't have credited her, using a vocabulary they wouldn't have believed her capable of all the while.

"Damned repairmen have no f'ing clue what they're doing." Mrs. Hudson who hadn't yet registered their presences grumbled as she nailed the last piece of the new window frame in place and proceeded to install the window.


	6. December 6th

**Dec 6: From TemporarilyAbaft - 'Why the devil are there toys scattered about?!"**

"Holmes! Why the devil are there toys scattered about?!" Watson yelled when he arrived home to find that it resembled a particularly untidy nursery.

Navigating the sitting room of his and Holmes' flat was like trying to make his way through a minefield. Jacks were scattered about the sitting-room like caltrops just waiting to catch the feet of the unwary. Also scattered about the room were balls of various sizes and manufacture including a large red India rubber ball that had nearly caused Watson to slip when he'd accidentally stepped on it while avoiding a rather small pair of in-line skates. Why Holmes had something as useless as a pair of in-line skates, especially in such a small size, and how he'd acquired such a thing, he didn't know.

As he seated himself on the sofa, there was a giggle and a small boy wielding a bow armed with sucker tipped arrows ran past coming from the direction of Holmes' bedroom. As he watched, the boy rather neatly fired an arrow which attached itself to the jackknife that secured the correspondence to the mantelpiece. A moment after the arrow hit the jackknife, a rough looking customer who looked to have been chasing the boy about the flat for a good long while tiredly jogged into the room, caught sight of him, momentarily looked hopeful, and then looked disappointed.

"How much longer until Mister 'Olmes gets here?" the man wearily asked.

"Since he's out on a case and could be days at it, I have no idea." he replied. "What seems to be the problem? Maybe I can be of some assistance until he returns."

"I don't know how you could help, but, well, something happened and now the boss..." the man started before pointing to the boy who was now firing at one of Holmes' numerous souvenirs. "Well, we came to see the third best mind in all of London to see if he could fix the problem."

"Third best?" he asked, wondering how Holmes rated so lowly in the man's mind. "What about the 'second best'?"

"Well, we already been to see him." the man said somewhat hesitantly.

"And...?" he prompted.

"Hullo." a boy who very closely resembled a childhood photograph of Mycroft Holmes said dully, not looking up from the anatomy book that had obviously been filched from his room as he seated himself on the sofa beside him. As the boy who looked like a young Mycroft Holmes sat down, there was a crash and a yell of "Jimmy! Come away from that!"


	7. December 7th

**Dec 7: From W. Y. Traveller - Lestrade walks in on Holmes decorating a Christmas tree.**

"Well, would you look at that, he is human after all." Inspector Lestrade said as he and the pair of constables who'd followed him to Holmes' flat took in the sight of Holmes placing a final candle on a most beautifully decorated conifer which was prominently displayed in the sitting room, displacing a great deal of the detritus that usually gathered there.

"If you're referring to me being a member of the species Homo Sapiens Sapiens, there has never been any question about that." Holmes said, not looking up from the tree. "As for the tree, it is part of an investigation, so there is no risk of me 'joining the human race' as you have been entreating me to do for years."

"The fact that Christmas was yesterday aside, you put an awful lot of effort in for something that's 'Part of a case'." Lestrade replied as the two constables behind him admired Holmes' work.

"It is as exact a reproduction of the tree that was in the Willard family sitting room as I could create given the fact that the photograph I was supplied with was in black and white and several of the Willard children were blocking portions of the tree." Holmes said as he set the first of several wrapped cardboard boxes under the tree. "If you're here about the Willard case, I have yet to make a determination."

"It seems that you are yet again at least one step ahead of me, as that is exactly why I'm here." Lestrade replied.

"If you care to wait, you may have your answer soon." Holmes said as he took up residence on the one sofa that wasn't blocked by the massive tree that was frankly too large for the flat that Holmes shared with one Doctor John Watson.

Using chairs from the breakfast table, Lestrade and his companions made their own seating arrangements, wondering exactly how long this experiment of Holmes' would take and what the purpose of it was. The candles that lit the beautifully decorated tree that all three men couldn't help but admire despite its somewhat morbid background couldn't last more than three hours or so, so whatever was going to happen would most probably happen within that timeframe.

During the second hour of their strange vigil, as Lestrade was getting ready to leave and the constables who'd come with him preparing to follow, a candle that wasn't as firmly affixed to the tree as it should've been finally slid off of its branch as it had been threatening to do without him and the others except perhaps Holmes himself noticing. All three policemen drew back in alarm before racing to interfere when the candle landed next to one of the wrapped boxes and the dangling edge of a ribbon caught fire. By the time the men had retrieved a bucket of water, all of the packages and the slightly dried needles on the lower branches of the tree were aflame and the entire tree was in danger of catching.

"Despite the rather strong motive the brother would've had for doing such a thing, it would seem that it wasn't arson." Holmes said as he looked over a photograph and looked back at the tree that the two young constables were valiantly putting out. "Sadly, such things happen all too often at this time of year."


	8. December 8th

**Dec 8: From KnightFury - An unusual case.**

Holmes shuddered as he set his beloved Stradavarius down in the abomination. Still though, things could've been worse. His violin could've actually been in the previous case when that small child had accidentally destroyed it for instance...

The child's mother had been kind enough to replace the case, but being poor, she had created a handmade replacement.

Correction.

The mother had started to make a replacement, and the entire family, very few of whom knew what a violin was - namely in that they were unaware that it was synonymous with "fiddle" - and what a violin case should look like, had gotten in on the job. Fortunately, the ones who had known what a violin case was had had the skills to ensure that a violin could be safely stored in the family project without incurring any damage unless the violin's owner was exceedingly careless.

Still though, the result was cringeworthty, but would have to suffice until a replacement could be purchased at a later date. A date when he actually had the money available to him and on hand.

As he was shutting the case that could barely be called such an uninvited, but not entirely unexpected, houseguest exclaimed "What the devil is that?!" behind him.

"It is a violin case that was made for me by one of my clients." he replied with an almost casual coolness he did not feel as he tried to keep his ears from turning red while Lestrade took in all the assorted patches, buttons, and other bits and bobs that were attached to the quilted exterior.

"Strangest damn case I've ever seen." Lestrade finally said after a minute of silence as he passed his final judgement on it.


	9. December 9th

**Dec 9: From Domina Temporis - Scotland**

"This is why I hate Scotland!" Sherlock Holmes moaned as he nursed the bruise on his backside. A bruise which was shaped like the hoof of a horse.

It hadn't come from a horse however...

"And stay out!" a creature straight out of Greek mythology yelled as Watson was thrown bodily from the forest behind him.

"Holmes, if you hadn't tried to disprove their existence in front of them..." Watson started.

"This is the third time I've run into something that shouldn't exist, or if it should, shouldn't exist in Scotland while I've been in Scotland! Back in England, and everywhere else in the world for that matter, there has been Logic and Reason and a distinct lack of encounters with Cryptids!" Holmes practically yelled as he stormed towards the centaur who was retreating into the forest where he and Watson had decided to make camp that afternoon.

"Holmes," Watson said as he grabbed his friend and tried to hold him in place before he did something stupid and got them into a situation that a revolver couldn't get them out of. "Let's just move on. We can retrieve our camping supplies later."

"Fine." Holmes sighed when the very real cryptid who had ambushed their campsite with a group of his friends had finally disappeared into the woods beyond the man's reach, apparently seeing reason now that the cause of his momentary flash of extreme emotion had gone.

"There's a good man." Watson said as he released his friend once he was certain that the other man wouldn't race back into the forest after the centaur who had so insulted him. "Now, why don't we take shelter in the ruins of that castle over there? I'm sure everything will seem much better in the morning after we've had a good night's sleep."


	10. December 10th

**Dec 10: From SheWhoScrawls - A group of Moriarty's agents brainstorm ideas of what to get the mastermind for Christmas**

"I still say we should get him Sherlock Holmes in a body bag." Sullivan, a man who was a bit low on the totem pole, said as he looked at the scattered slips of paper that would soon be placed in a hat.

"But, the boss could get that for himself anytime he wants to." Sebastian Moran who'd been jealously guarding his slip of paper so nobody could steal his idea replied.

After everyone who could write was done writing, all of the folded slips of paper were dutifully collected and placed in a derby belonging to one of the "housepainters" who did honest housepainting by day, and not-so-honest housebreaking by night. The decision to place strips of paper in a hat and randomly select one had come about after several hours of arguing over options that had ranged from the utterly inane to so good that it was almost impossible to decide between them. Now that the deed was done, the hat was passed to the most highly ranked member of the group who had met to discuss this most important of topics: What to get the boss for Christmas.

In previous years, it had been left to the individual members of the most respectable Professor Moriarty's organization to select presents for their leader on their own. This had on some occasions led to near disasters, as men of a more vulgar bent had acquired items for the good professor that could have gotten him dismissed from his position at the university where he lectured on Mathematics had he been found with them. Considering the size of the organization, the number of duplicate gifts the professor had received every year had been somewhat embarrassing as well. Due to the highly inconvenient chaos that was Christmas for Moriarty which generally put him in a less than cheerful mood on that most festive of days, it was decided earlier in the year that rather than giving individual gifts as usual, Moriarty's men would collectively give him one gift and everyone would chip in, both cutting down on potential embarrassment for the good Professor, and potential embarrassment for the men who couldn't afford to give much more than a heartfelt "Merry Christmas".

After dutifully taking the hat from the mole in the Irregulars, Sebastian Moran shook it a few times in order to stir up the slips of paper, reached in, spun them around a few times with his index finger, and then finally selected one. Setting the hat aside, he opened the slip of paper as the other men - and women - watched in anticipation. After sighing and rubbing the bridge of his nose, Moran made his announcement:

"We're getting him a set of custom-made monogrammed toasting forks with daggers concealed in the handles."


End file.
